


Any Port In A Storm

by amethystfox, ayerlind



Series: Any Port In A Storm [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Ben is not a body pillow, Big Bro Ben, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Moussa and Sonny are trolls, Phobias, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tottenham Hotspur can't keep their hands off of each other, Wee precious Winksy, fear of storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystfox/pseuds/amethystfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayerlind/pseuds/ayerlind
Summary: As ever, they were four to a room and two to a bed, and on the other side of his, Harry Winks was just... staring at the ceiling.
Relationships: Ben Davies & Harry Winks
Series: Any Port In A Storm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638730
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	Any Port In A Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually be a series of one-shots posted by both myself and [Amethyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystfox/works) as the storm wakes up more and more of the squad. :D Stay tuned.

Room #332 

The rain was already lashing against the window when Ben jerked awake. He blinked into the darkness of the hotel room, but he was only confused for one second - the next, thunder ripped apart the sky above them and he realised that it was the flash of lightning that woke him. 

“Ah, go back to sleep,” he mumbled groggily to the storm, rolling onto his side and tucking his knees up, curling around the extra pillow from his side of the bed. He was just about to close his eyes again when he saw that he wasn’t the only one awake. As ever, they were four to a room and two to a bed, and on the other side of his, Harry Winks was just... staring at the ceiling. “Winksy?” he murmured.

Harry swore under his breath, hands coming up to cover his face. “I’m trying,” he whispered through them. “Sorry to wake you.”

Ben shook his head as another grumble of thunder passed, although he wasn’t quite sure how effective that was in the dark. “I was talking to the sky. You didn’t wake me, the storm did. You too?” He glanced toward the window, and on cue, another, much brighter flash illuminated the room. The thunder cracked immediately after it, rattling the windows for a deafening split second before it deepened into a fading rumble. Ben’s eyes widened as he was snatched abruptly away from the precipice of sleep, and he rubbed hands over his face. “Fuck me, it’s proper roaring out there.”

Harry’s responding laugh was high and breathy and completely unconvincing, muffled behind his hands. “Yeah,” he answered. 

“You’re not a fan?” Ben pressed his lips together sympathetically, then glanced over his shoulder at the other bed. Neither Moussa nor Sonny had so much as stirred; Sonny was even still snoring, spread out across as much of the bed as he could take up without forcing Moussa onto the floor. “How the hell those two are sleeping thr--” Ben began as he faced forward again, but he stopped when he saw Harry’s face. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness somewhat, but it was another, more prolonged flicker of lightning that illuminated his friend, and he saw Harry’s eyes immediately squeeze shut, jaw clenching and tears glistening through his lashes. Suddenly realising the extent of Harry’s distress, Ben made a soft sound. “Mate. Hey, you’re alright.” 

“Shit, sorry,” was about all that Harry seemed to be able to grind out at the moment, sounding mortified, but Ben was already shaking his head. 

“Nah, don’t you dare.” There was a stretch of silence, the storm mercifully focusing its efforts elsewhere long enough for Harry to seem to catch his breath. Guarded, wet eyes flickered over cautiously toward Ben, who repeated the same action again, shaking his head preemptively against any thought Harry might have of trying to continue apologising. “Is it the noise?” he asked. “Or...?”

“Just... storms. Dunno what it is, if I’m honest.” Harry’s voice trembled, and he groaned and wiped his eyes, keeping his face covered with his hands. “Other than humiliating.”

“Winksy--” Ben started, then bit his lip. “I’m scared of heights,” he admitted abruptly, rather than try to reassure Harry that it was okay. Harry blinked and Ben bobbed his head, scooting a bit and rolling onto his back. He fixed up his pillows so that he wasn’t lying so flat anymore, thinking. “Troy and Lucas are both scared of open water. Moussa is scared of spiders. Or, no, you want scared of spiders? How about Tripps?” He went through the squad in his head, then grinned. “And Dier is scared of clowns.”

“Seriously?” A genuine smile, albeit a tiny one, fought its way onto Harry’s face and he breathed out something adjacent to a laugh as he dragged the edge of the sheet over his face, wiping his eyes. 

“One hundred percent. Remember when George invited everyone round to watch IT?” Ben asked. Harry began to nod, but a flash and rumble made him jump. The brief respite from the weather made the sudden crash all the more jarring, and Ben swore internally as all the lines of Harry’s body tensed up again. “Winksy,” he said. He patted the space between them to get his attention. Harry looked at him, and Ben smiled encouragingly. “Hey. Remember?”

Harry only nodded, but it was good enough for Ben. 

“Well, Dier and Dele both developed some very sudden scheduling conflicts when they found out what the movie was going to be.” He grinned, pleased to see the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch up again reflexively. There was another rumble from outside, thankfully softer, and Harry only glanced nervously over at the window before he was looking at Ben again, who gave a conspiratorial wink. “Dele just doesn’t like horror films, but after a couple of beers, Jan spilled the beans about Dier."

He was pleased to see Harry grin back. “He’s scared of mice,” Harry contributed, voice a little less shaky. “Jan.” 

“‘Mouses,’” Ben corrected, and they both had to mind their giggles over that old interview - although if the storm was anything to go by, they really didn’t need to worry about waking Moussa and Sonny with anything less noisy than an airhorn right above them. “See? You’re not alone.” They shared a grin, and then Ben’s sharpened into a smirk. “You ever watch his What’s In the Box?”

“Jan’s?” Another short laugh burst out of Harry, who clapped his hand over his mouth, then tucked forward to press his face into space between their pillows, still chuckling into the mattress, voice muffled as he said, “Yeah, a few times.” 

Ben grinned, glad that Harry’s head was hidden as lightning illuminated the room again. He waited until the thunder began to roll before he asked, “Did you ever watch mine and see Tripps thinking he had a leg to stand on, taking the piss out of Fernando? Babies, the both of them.” 

Harry laughed again as he pulled his head back out, staying stretched out on his stomach. He crossed arms on top of his pillow, propping his head up in order to grin at Ben. Just one side of his hair was hilariously fluffed up now, and Ben had absolutely no intention of telling him. Between that and the freckles, he would look about ten if it wasn’t for the scruff. “‘I’m not puttin’ my hand in any of them boxes,’” he quoted, and Ben laughed at the accuracy of his impression of Kieran’s northern accent. 

They went back and forth, smothering laughter over their own silly content, quoting their friends and each other for the better part of another fifteen minutes or so. Quickly enough, the only thing that remained of the storm was a softer drum of rain against the window and the occasional gentle grumble of thunder far too distant to be paid any mind anymore, and Harry heaved a massive yawn, head hanging down and face buried in his hands. 

“Think you might be able to sleep?” asked Ben. He’d been stifling yawns for a few minutes now, himself. A glance at his watch told him that they could probably get another good three hours before their alarms went off, and he was yearning for the chance to try. 

Harry nodded, a little flash of embarrassment returning to his face for the first time since they had really started talking. “Yeah, probably. Man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” he started, but Ben cut him off with a look - and as he expected, Harry knew what the look meant, and he ducked his head. “Fine. Cheers. I really appreciate...” He gestured a bit aimlessly, then at Ben. “You.”

“Aww,” Ben said, somewhere between sincerely touched and teasing just the slightest bit. Harry scowled at the lilt in his voice, but Ben just smiled warmly. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would,” responded Harry, not even a second of hesitation. A hard look flashed across his face, one that he got on the pitch sometimes - usually before getting himself into trouble somehow. Ben had to restrain himself from reaching over to ruffle his hair - Harry’s perpetual youth was a sore spot for him sometimes, and Ben didn’t want to risk undoing everything he’d just done in order to cheer him up, no matter how adorable his fierce loyalty was. “But yeah,” Harry mumbled, eventually bested by the lull in the conversation. “You know. Thanks.”

There was a pause.

Harry looked shifty. 

Ben blinked. 

“You’re welcome?” he prompted. 

Even in the darkness, Ben saw Harry blush. “Just... s’alright if I give you a hug?” 

Ben barely kept from laughing at how absurdly cute his embarrassment was, and instead he lifted his arm, inviting Harry over. “Since when do you even have to ask?” he teased. They’d known each other for years and shared hundreds of hugs by now, after all. 

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. We’re sharing a bed, naught but our shorts on? Seemed... polite?”

Ben finally let himself laugh, ignoring Harry’s grumpy, “Oh, fuck off,” about it as he unwedged the pillow that he’d been curled around in his sleep. He dropped his arm around Harry and dragged him close, and Harry slid immediately over against his side, one arm wrapping around Ben’s middle, head on his chest. Ben smiled and folded him into a tight hug.

“Thanks,” Harry murmured again after a few seconds, sounding like he was already at the edge of sleep again. 

Ben rolled his eyes, one hand carding through Harry’s short hair a couple of times before he patted him once on the cheek. “Hey, no falling asleep on me.” 

Harry grumbled.

Ben gave him a little shove. “Ah, come on,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, Winksy.”

Despite having no intention of serving as a body pillow, Ben discovered upon waking that two things had happened - first, he had indeed done just that, somehow having fallen asleep while _actively_ trying to un-cuddle, which led to a slightly awkward untangling of limbs as they scrambled, pink-cheeked, out of bed. 

The second thing that had happened was that Sonny and Moussa - courtesy of sleeping through Stormpocalypse, Ben assumed - somehow awoke bright-eyed and bushy tailed before any of their alarms actually went off. Finding Ben and Harry thus intertwined had led to piss-taking of epic proportions - pictures were taken, threats were made, there was tackling and ear flicking. Then, just before they were due down to the coach, unnervingly quick little Harry Winks managed to snatch Moussa’s phone straight out of his hand and lock himself in the bog long enough to delete them _and_ \- as he ended up nearly having to yell gleefully through the door over Moussa’s increasingly thunderous repetitions of, “ _Ouvre la porte, pute! Je te tuerai!_ ” - also remember to delete them from the recently deleted folder. 

Ben rolled his eyes, bravely gave Moussa an encouraging part on the back, and slipped out. He was confident that Harry could take perfectly good care of himself this time.


End file.
